These relics were forged in remembrance of a forbidden funeral rite, where grief itself was bound with blood. Black flowers were gathered at dusk, their petals steeped in mourning prayers and pressed into pale resin like bodies laid beneath a shroud. As the final rite was spoken, a blade was drawn, and scarlet lines were bled through the ceremony, sealing sorrow into form.
The blood did not symbolize sacrifice for power, but devotion, loss, and the refusal to forget. Each number was inscribed while the mourner’s hands still trembled, binding memory into every cast.
Those who wield Mourning in Scarlet are said to feel a quiet weight, like standing before a grave long after the crowd has gone. These relics do not cry out. They endure, carrying grief made eternal, beautiful, and terrible in its silence.
These relics were forged in remembrance of a forbidden funeral rite, where grief itself was bound with blood. Black flowers were gathered at dusk, their petals steeped in mourning prayers and pressed into pale resin like bodies laid beneath a shroud. As the final rite was spoken, a blade was drawn, and scarlet lines were bled through the ceremony, sealing sorrow into form.
The blood did not symbolize sacrifice for power, but devotion, loss, and the refusal to forget. Each number was inscribed while the mourner’s hands still trembled, binding memory into every cast.
Those who wield Mourning in Scarlet are said to feel a quiet weight, like standing before a grave long after the crowd has gone. These relics do not cry out. They endure, carrying grief made eternal, beautiful, and terrible in its silence.
